White Days
by Jess Angel
Summary: From the beginning, fighting altered their worlds. It does so again.
1. Prelude

**White Prelude**

White days like this  
I'll never miss.  
They only come once a year

**–The Juliana Theory, "White Days"  
**

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've always loved this song, but I didn't intend on using it here. I was really struggling with a title for this fic when this track on my Juliana Theory "Love" CD began to play. That's when I thought, 'Perfect.'

It blended so well with the themes, I couldn't not put it in. Kudos to anyone who's heard it; if you haven't, I definitely recommend you check it out. I think putting the lyrics to sound, hearing it, will really give the full and complete effect of this work.

Update 8/16/12. Because of FanFictionNet's policy, I am removing the bulk of song lyrics that are in some of my pieces to be on the safe side. I cut down this to a short quote and am transferring them to my xanga, where I'm housing notes and such of my writing, so others may find them there. Link: angelic(underscore)chaos . xanga . com

Concerning the Fic in the Next Chapter

This is it. Thank you to all the readers, reviewers, and fellow writers. I've enjoyed my stay here at the G Gundam section. This is a fandom I never thought I'd write about, honestly; I still haven't seen every single episode. Despite that, I'm glad I did take on this fandom.

In closing, about this farewell fic… The arrangement is purposely different, so don't be alarmed if you're confused at first. There's also a reference to my fic "A Loving Sleep" in here. Loved to know if you spot it. ;)


	2. White Days

**White Days**  
by Jess Angel

Outside, the sky was a mixture of white and grey. The color was a bright dullness that hurt your eyes when you looked upon it, and it existed though the sun had yet to break through bloated clouds. In fact, the orange star almost seemed completely absent, hidden from all beneath the heavens, blocked by a too-bright sky.

It was clear it's struggle would continue the rest of the day.

* * *

_He remembered it was 7:22._

With breakfast in bed, he had come into their room. His unruly black hair was still in disarray, looking the way it had when he'd first woken up. The red bandana was gone—clutched in her lithe fingers, he knew. He'd forgotten to take it off last night, and whenever that happened, he always found it wrapped around her hand the next morning.

The smell of strawberries and maple syrup already wafted inside before him, but she didn't stir. And he kept quiet. Not even a bird's song was heard hailing the new day. It was a fact that had gone unnoticed by him, by everyone. Everyday was just another day. Another day was today.

But today was different.

Buttered pancakes and a glass of orange juice sat on the wooden tray he brought in—so did a lily he had plucked from the backyard garden. It had been cool to the touch.

_Raindrops from an early morning shower traced a few leaves and petals._

He remembered she was radiant then. That morning. Lazy, beautiful blue eyes on the verge of drifting down. The edges of sleep, like a blanket, curling around her. She smiled when he kissed her temple. She loved it when he kissed her while she slept. It was like he was waking her to a dream. A real dream, she said.

He kissed her again when she began to fall away, so she wouldn't fall completely.

_She was awake._

She was so very awake. And he was awake with her. He was crying her name, calling to her. But the world was slowing. His lips were moving frantically, forever calling to her, for her, but she heard no sound. He was clutching her body… on red ground. Everything was red—and grey. Everything. All around.

She never did remember the stray bullet hitting her.

All she could recall was him speaking inaudible words, the desperation falling from his eyes, and the confusion of a terribly frightening moment so clear on his countenance. How dearly she wanted to tell him it was going to be all right. But she felt so cold. Her fingers were like ice; they were trembling.

She wanted to hold him. She wanted to feel warm again.

But she could not form the words to tell him.

_It began to rain._

Hand in hand, they had strolled through the marketplace. Sometimes, she wandered in front with his hand on the small of her back - guiding, gentle, possessive. It was one of the few romantic gestures he would allow in public. He liked it best when they were alone.

Activity bustled quietly left and right. For the most part, they were left to themselves, the crowd becoming accustomed to the regular appearance of the renowned couple. They had the right to shop too, after all. And peace in the public eye was hard to come by.

…Peace in the heart even more difficult.

The number of marketgoers began to trickle down as the day continued. Few clusters remained when she wrapped an arm around his waist to lean on his form, the scent of her shampoo teasing him.

_Home beckoned._

Disgruntled voices had clamored in the distance. A scuffle. The reasons, petty or not, unknown. Men unsatisfied and unchecked were dangerously choosing dispute.

They were far.

But not far enough.

Domon would learn how truly repulsive fights could become—by one he had never been a part of.

_The shot rang._

She was so still.

He sat at her bedside, understanding what it meant for something to be painfully real. He felt it. His hands pulled at his damp hair in dejection. The undeniable urge to smash his fists into the walls, into those responsible, was raging fire in his blood. But he would not be consumed.

Only she was all consuming.

_He was trapped inside a grey prison._

The walls of the room were white. White and grey, like the world outside. The world today. There was no definite word on her condition. No one in the building could predict if she would live… if she would die.

Days later he began to feel grateful for that. Better fate to be invisible. If they had come with the worst words, he wouldn't have believed them anyway.

_But time was not kind._

His dark eyes traced her face, and the ghostly-pale skin taunted his faith. In a mirror all he would see was cracked glass. He lived in a shadow land. He lived in that white room… in a grey prison, where stars were not supposed to exist. There was no rising orange star to cast its rays upon him.

_He was told to let go._

But he would not let the rope slip. If she would not come, he would ascend it. The rope would not slip.

He would hold it for days, days that were forever.

_And when the last night fell…_

He touched her hesitantly, then grasped her hand. He let go… not of the rope, but himself. He kissed her palm… her fingertips… her hair… He collapsed on her chest, allowing the pieces to shatter within. He was pleading with her to collect them.

Only she could make him whole again.

She remained still.

_He failed to exhale._

Then…

_It was the end._

* * *

_…The breath of fluttering eyelashes…_

* * *

It was the first and last time he would give into tears in that world of white, that grey prison. What once was dull now lay vivid. She was awake. The prison was broken.

_He was alive again._

·:·. _Fin._.·:·

The title "White Days" originally comes from The Juliana Theory.  
G Gundam and its characters © Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sotsu Agency


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